(no subject)
Dad brings home a clear plastic bag with something translucent white and wet in it. The bag has brine smell on it.
"It's an octopus."
It was many octopi: I found two heads and about six arm-bundles when I removed the flesh to rinse it. Emily stirred flour, salt, oregano, and pepper in a tall bowl and cut their heads into (perfect) rings. Preparing octopus for the first time is an experiment and an experience. Under my care, the oil burned a cloud of smoke into the house.
* * * * *
Augie and Denise were by earlier.
Denise is always happy to see me. I'm glad her facial features didn't shift or blink gone like they did the last time I saw her.
If you celebrate Christmas: Have fun tonight and tomorrow. ♥
The snow is deep on the ground.
Always the light falls
Softly down on the hair of my belovèd.
This is a good world.
The war has failed.
God shall not forget us.
Who made the snow waits where love is.
Only a few go mad.
The sky moves in its whiteness
Like the withered hand of an old king.
God shall not forget us.
Who made the sky knows of our love.
The snow is beautiful on the ground.
And always the lights of heaven glow
Softly down on the hair of my belovèd.
Kenneth Patchen
"It's an octopus."
It was many octopi: I found two heads and about six arm-bundles when I removed the flesh to rinse it. Emily stirred flour, salt, oregano, and pepper in a tall bowl and cut their heads into (perfect) rings. Preparing octopus for the first time is an experiment and an experience. Under my care, the oil burned a cloud of smoke into the house.
* * * * *
Augie and Denise were by earlier.
Denise is always happy to see me. I'm glad her facial features didn't shift or blink gone like they did the last time I saw her.
If you celebrate Christmas: Have fun tonight and tomorrow. ♥
The snow is deep on the ground.
Always the light falls
Softly down on the hair of my belovèd.
This is a good world.
The war has failed.
God shall not forget us.
Who made the snow waits where love is.
Only a few go mad.
The sky moves in its whiteness
Like the withered hand of an old king.
God shall not forget us.
Who made the sky knows of our love.
The snow is beautiful on the ground.
And always the lights of heaven glow
Softly down on the hair of my belovèd.
Kenneth Patchen